Faustian Bargain
by Halfpenny
Summary: Experience is weighty. Tobias Cassie. *archived*


**A/N: Slight AU. After the war, Tobias opts to stay on Earth. **

**Warnings: Mild slash, language.**

**--faustian bargain**

_                beg 3/3//fin 3/31_
    
    _but the love you sought was mine to give;_
    
    _the love I sought - declared your weary_
    
    _and suspicious eyes - was yours to give to me._
    
    _Our bodies sensed and sought each other;_
    
    _blood and skin perceived the truth…_

_                   --K.P. Kavafis__ "On the Stairs"_

Jake hadn't been a bad guy, all together. He'd had his faults –which is fine, seeing as we all have them—but he really did have his heart in the right place. It was just that he'd had these certain couple of habits that had made him such a bastard. They hadn't been _big_ things, necessarily, but they'd been enough, you know? 

I'd tried to keep it secret for a while. Up until then our preferences _had_ been kept to ourselves, though every once in a while I'd fly by his house at night to hear the familiar wise-ass commentary ("Sure you didn't morph to get _that one up?") and Jake's grunted replies, and I guess I might have felt guilty had I not found it all so goddamn hysterical._

When he had found out, though –about _us_, that is—it was all about me being up against a wall and him clutching the front of my shirt in a white-knuckled fist. When Jake bothered to get mad, he got _mad, and he had this way of getting this __twitch right before his face turned all kinds of spectacular colors. Most times it scared the shit out of me, but that time he'd just looked… tired, I guess. Like he'd already shut down and his body was acting out of denial. "Jake, what the hell is your problem?" I asked wearily._

"You are _not _fucking my cousin," he hissed.

"Your cousin's dead, Jake."

"You are _not _fucking my cousin."

"Need me to spell it out? Fine. Procession. Funeral. Speeches."

He didn't seem to get it. "You are _not_—"

"Gravestone, inscription, tacky plastic fucking neon flags!" I barked. "How long are you going to stand there denying it? Cassie doesn't have a problem. We _agreed _to do it."

He shook his head. For a second I suddenly felt sorry for him. I could see the conflict in his eyes; whether to listen to a former teammate or whether to just start kicking my ass –and he could, pretty easily. But like I said, he's a decent guy, and the expression on his face was as puzzled and hurt as it was angry. "But you haven't… she still would be a teenager, and…"  He faltered, then shook his head again, a fresh surge of anger tightening his grip. "You're lying! Cassie would have never agreed to do something so… so…!"

"It was out of her own free will. She's not your girlfriend anymore, man. You gave her up. You gave her up, you gave your cousin up."

He slammed me against the wall again. "I'm not going to allow it." His voice was strained. "I'm not going to allow her to be part of your sick little plan…"

"Sick little plan," I said agreeably. "Of course. You need everything to be by _your rules, right?"_

"Dammit, shut _up!_" 

He began shaking. At first I thought it was out of fury, because _damn was he pissed, but after a moment I realized that the tension wasn't coming from his fist as much as it was coming from his entire body, starting from his toes and shuddering up his spine. Despite my annoyance with him and the fact that I was, you know, plastered against the side of the building, I felt a surge of deep concern. "Jake, man, take it easy—"_

"I didn't protect her while she was alive," he whispered. "I'm not… I won't let you _use _her like that when she's not even here to—"

"There's nothing left of Rachel to protect," I said. Harshly, I guess. "And it wasn't anybody's fault."

"But we had _rules_—"

I leaned in, smirking. Judging by his expression it must have looked pretty feral, but the emotion behind it was driven by something that felt a lot more pathetic.  "She was my best friend," I said, "and I don't need your permission to fuck my best friend any more than you needed my permission to start fucking yours."

He punched me then, busting loose a tooth or two, but it hadn't been serious. He knew he was beat.

At any rate, he was dead a week later. He got the whole damned city in on his funeral, including Cassie and me. Marco never showed. I'm thinking he'd figured it out ahead of time. Marco had known Jake almost better than Jake had known himself, and I have no doubt he'd already seen it coming. At any rate, the suicide was pretty much covered up, and Jake received a hero's farewell. We never heard from Marco again, and that was fine as fuck.

~^~

Sometimes she walked like Her, though I don't think she realized it. She didn't dress in overalls anymore, at least not when she visited me, and actually it didn't really matter all that much what she wore seeing as it was all taken off pretty quickly anyway. But _man_ was she was good at playing the part, and if it ever bothered her that I substituted names whenever I came she didn't give any indication. 

But she did have it down remarkably well. The flipping of the hair, the swinging of the hips –and damn, did she have hips—right down to the tone of voice. It was to the point where she started doing it unconsciously; she looked right, sounded right, moved right, and when the time came she screamed just right, too.

She was kind of bothered when I revealed that I had Jake's DNA. 

"Did you acquire it sometime during the war?" she asked, leaning over to sniff the contents of the pan on the stove. The handle of her ladle clanged against the side. "What am I saying, of course you must have…"

"Not really."

"_When_, then?" She turned, hands on her hips. Suspicion flickered across her face. "There wasn't an open casket," she said slowly.

I shrugged. The coffee was too bland without sugar, I noticed; and that was strange, actually, seeing as it had of course been a while since I'd last ingested anything sugary, but old habits are usually the last ones to die. "How do you know the Ellimist didn't help me out?"

Her dark eyes narrowed. "Don't mess with me, boy. You know you didn't get any help from him."

"You're right."

"Then how did…?" I guess something in my expression must have given it away because she suddenly backed off, going back to making breakfast. She had a nice kitchen; it smelled good regardless of what was being made in it.

Soon, after she got used to the whole idea, we started getting a lot more comfortable. It even got to the point where she began staying in morph herself while I came in the room with mine, and she always found it hysterical. I didn't blame her –it was.

I later offered to find Rachel's sisters for further experimentation, but she declined.

~^~

One of Cassie's favorite things to do was to ask me if I ever felt guilty about it. 

It was early April, I think, and winter had pretty much given up for the year. We'd been in her workshop at the back of her house for the last couple of hours. I knew she'd been kind of the artsy type back in high school, but for some reason it had really caught me by surprise when I'd walked in one day to find her sitting down at some rickety table, sculpting and looking like she had done it since the day she was born. After a period of stubborn refusals I finally caved in and allowed her to show me the ropes. Only problem was, my years with wings instead fingers had made me clumsy as hell, so more often than not my statues of naked Egyptian goddesses or my life-size effigies of Abraham Lincoln and Stevie Wonder ended up being whittled down into dishware.

"I _mean it," she pressed. "I know it's just __us underneath it all, but… do you think they would have minded?"_

I turned my head. Her piece of clay was evolving into a type of centaur, tri-winged and bush-tailed. "I don't know," I said, returning to my work. "You know Rachel. She might've been pissed, but it's not like you're going around… you know. Killing things. Making her look bad."

She nodded. Her fingers flicked over the edges with tender confidence, smoothing out nonexistent imperfection. "And Jake?"

I shrugged, tossing my head to get my hair from my eyes. Getting clay out of it was a nasty, messy business; I'd learned to keep my hands away from my face. "Hard to say. I made it a point to make sure he never found out."

"But if he _had…"_

"I don't know." 

We worked in silence for a few minutes. Cassie then glanced over at the ever-changing result of two hours' work, brow furrowing. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Uh huh."

"What the hell is that thing?"

"Madonna." I flattened the upper portion of my clay blob into a torso, then pinched out twin nubs. "I can't believe you couldn't tell."

Her smile was kept at just that, though I got the feeling it was due to an enormous amount of self-control. "Sorry. I've never been good with abstract art."

I was wounded. "But there are _boobies_."

"One's lower than the other."

"That one's cancerous." 

"You know, no matter what you say," Cassie slid a clay-splotted pencil from the table and began drawing lines onto the tail, "you are a good Jake. You know that, right? I mean it. I think that if anyone should have the right to use his form, it should be you. I'm just… I'm not sure whether or not _I _live up to Rachel, sometimes. Even if it's only for two hours at a time."

I shrugged, keeping my eyes on my work. It wasn't that I was uncomfortable with the subject –not _really_, anyway—but there are certain issues that just start wearing on you so much you'd just as soon light a match under your ass than think about them. The fact that Cassie was still agonizing over morals so much that she was still questing for reassurance hurt me. "Don't kid yourself," I said quietly. "_Nobody_ has the right to morph anybody's form without permission." 

She twitched. Hesitating only briefly, I balled up a tiny piece of clay and stuck it onto the end of Madonna's breast. "And our justifications suck. We do it for one thing only, Cassie, and then we're done. No guilt, no strings. But it isn't right. We knew that from the start."__

Cassie nodded slowly, lightly pinching the tip of the tail. "You're right, of course," she said. Her voice was flat. "It's just… I don't know. Before the war it would have bothered me a lot more. Now… now it's just like… I'm keeping her alive. I know I'm not, not _really_, but… it feels that way."

Over on the stool at the opposite side of the workroom, Cassie's pager beeped. I looked to her curiously, but her face was expressionless. "Ignore it," she said as I began to stand. "Probably another damned animal rights activist group wanting me to morph their mascot for another one of their marches. They just don't seem to understand that I have limits."

I sat slowly. Though the impassiveness was still there, her fingers were tugging at the clay with damaging force, bending the delicate features. She was upset, I realized. "Cassie…"

"I was stupid to think I was doing anything but breaking the rules…"

"Cassie, listen…"

"… I should stop, today, right now. Never again…"

I reached over and rested my hand atop hers. Her movements stilled. Now that I was closer I could see the tell-tale glimmer of tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," I said gently. "Really, I didn't mean to make it sound like… look, I'm the one that forced you, okay?"

"You didn't force me, Tobias. Nobody could have forced me." 

"No, no, Jake was right, I _did _force you. You would have never thought to do it otherwise…"

She laughed. It wasn't bitter, though, and the effect was immediate, allowing the shadows to flee from her face and leave behind that familiar, quiet beauty that made me hate Jake like a bitch. "I've always liked that about you," she said. "Even after all you've been through, you still think the best in people."

"Not really," I confessed. "It's just, in your case, it's hard not to."

"You're sweet." She swiped a clean section of her forearm across her eyes and got back to work. "Come to think of it, I think _you _should be a mascot. That way you can get yourself a job and stop hanging around me all the time."

"It's not you I like," I said, "it's your food."

"Yeah, well, I think it's about time _you _started putting meat on the table."

"Rat-meat? Mouse-meat? Snake-meat?"

"None of the above." Cassie twisted the mane with her thumb, creating a broad swirl. "Get me one of those raccoons snooping around the feed in the barn. Stupid things, fat as all get-out… and once they wise up to the fact you're trying to catch them they're impossible to get."

"See, if it were up to me, I _would_ get them for you. Problem is, the bird half of me's got no balls."

"Then I guess I'll just have to keep fattening you up in hopes that you'll eventually get to the point where you can vanquish them by sitting on them. There." She sat back, looking satisfied. "I think that'll do."

I studied the figure. The centaur had gone from a standing position to rearing in the air, outstretched wings providing the necessary counterbalance. Its mane and tail and just about everything about it was absolutely amazing.  

I looked down at my own work. Madonna's legs had slowly pancaked down into turtle feet, causing her chest to lean forward. Frowning, I pulled up a bulge for the head and drew out a portion by the neck. That accomplished, I took a piece from the side and rolled it into a thin strip, setting it down on top of the protrusion. "I hate you and your talent," I said as I worked. "Does that look like a fiddle?"

Cassie shook her head, smiling slightly. "I'm glad you're here, Tobias," she said quietly. 

"It's not like you're going to be able to get rid of me now." I finished molding and turned my masterpiece over so it was facing her. "I present to you Emperor Nero."

She reached over and squeezed off its head. 

~^~

People forget about war a lot sooner than you'd think. I know I'd never appreciated those veterans who'd come into the school and drone on and on about liberty and crap while we squirmed out in the audience. I mean, seriously, come on. They hadn't really wanted to be there –why act all excited?

Now that I look back, though, in all the glory of twenty-twenty hindsight, I realize that they _had wanted to be there, and they'd loved their country enough to stand in front of a bunch of snot-nosed little assholes that didn't give one shit or another whether or not they were talking about freedom or the stuff they found lining the back of their tighty-whities as long as it got them out of algebra. _

With people now it's the same thing, only it's worse, because most of them still don't know all that really happened. You hear some random story about mind controlling aliens, or maybe read a book at Schuler's written by someone who actually knows what they're talking about, but then you turn around and see some goddamned Andalite action figure at K-Mart and everybody's laughing like a jackass.

Marco once told me that whenever one bad guy is taken out, another pops up in his place. The yeerks were bad, sure, he'd said, but as soon as they were annihilated some other thing would claim the spotlight and be a hundred times worse than them. He'd been more cynical than usual that day, and at that point I think I was the only one still bothering to listen to him. "Why else do you think I'm helping to save this stupid planet?" he'd asked. "We're retarded as hell, but we kick ass in war. Pretty soon we'll be up there with those alien races, right? If anybody's going to be the bad guy –I'm just saying, I'd rather it be us than somebody else."

Of course, that had been Marco, and Marco, who could be downright brilliant given the right situation, could be an utter asshole if presented with the wrong one. Jake had known that, and had used it, just like any leader would have. 

And then there was me.

Something flitted in the branches of the tree behind me. I didn't bother turning; I'd heard her long before she'd made her presence known. Mind if I cut in? Cassie asked.

Depends. You an owl?

Yeah.

Keep moving, I said, else I'll have to beat you up.

Scooch, boy.

I scooched. A moment later an owl settled next to me on the limb, taking a moment to tug a loose feather out from under its wing. I happened to see that you were in the neighborhood, she said.

_My neighborhood. I was stern. And how did you know it was me, anyway?_

You think I don't know your territory? Besides, you have this habit of leaning to the side when you sit.

Maybe that's why my bowls were always crooked. Trust you to find some embarrassing trait of mine in the dead of night.

The sounds of nightlife, which had hushed come her arrival, began to crescendo around us. After a while Cassie finally shifted. You know, as many times as I see it, I can't get over how beautiful nature is.

An eternity ago I might have made a wisecrack. Yeah.

It's just… isn't it amazing that after so much hatred and bloodshed and battling there can still be something so… untouched?

Does it bother you?

It was a strange question, but she took it in stride. Not really. Sometimes I get mad that people don't recognize the significance of what happened, but wishing misfortune on everything is spiteful. I didn't like fighting, but I was always fond of thinking that somewhere, I was saving somebody pain. 

We sat in silence for a time. I was burning with questions, though I'd learned long ago to keep them to myself; some things were better off at rest. Still, when a little over a quarter of an hour had passed, I couldn't help but get concerned about her morph time. As if reading my thoughts she turned her head slightly. Do you mind if I demorph? I mean, I have time, but you're starting to fidget.

I don't fidget.

You do, she said dryly. Besides, at your age you really shouldn't be subjected to stress.

Shut up, I snapped, though I wasn't really offended. In case you've forgotten, _I'm _the one with the extended life-span, here. I'll have you know that I'm right in my prime! The other hawks are jealous of my good looks and sexy tail feathers. You should see me fending off the chicks.

Why fend them off? I think you'd make a good daddy. She had begun drifting to the ground. Once there, she started shedding her morph, trading wings for limbs and white for brown. 

I went down after her, settling awkwardly on the ground. Once finished –it didn't take her a half a minute nowadays—she lowered herself beside me, stroking my neck. Though it made the hawk half of me uncomfortable, the other part of me reveled in the contact. "You're a good guy, Tobias," she said. 

Thanks?

"I mean it. You're really decent. After all that happened… that's really saying a lot."

I'm no more "decent" than you.

"Deny all you want. It just makes you cute." Her teeth flashed in the darkness. "But right now I think you're a little _too _decent. And you'd look cuter without the feathers."

The thing with Cassie was, as unpredictable as she could be sometimes, there were also times you could spot her intentions a mile away. And here I thought you were out here to have a talk.

"Oh, I was." She tugged at my tail-feathers lightly. "We've talked."

I began to morph. It's a funny thing, becoming Jake. His body had definitely been adult when I'd acquired him, but calling the appropriate adult face to mind had been tough for a time. I'd tried relaying my difficulties to Cassie. The explanation was botched and had made absolutely no sense, but being Cassie, she hadn't really needed much of one in the first place. "He stopped trying to live when he was a teenager," she'd said. "Why should you think of him as an adult?" 

Now all I had to do was remember his voice, or that ever-present fatigue, or the nervous habit of biting the skin around his thumb–simple things—and once the changes started I could sit back and watch them happen. Only problem was, when _Jake _got there, settling in place next to my consciousness the same as any other morph, I felt like he was watching me –and in a way, he _was_—because every move I made elicited the same faint disapproval. It wasn't really that bad by itself; I was more unnerved by the fact that I didn't know from which one of us that disapproval was really coming from.

"Hey, Tobias?"

I shook myself from my thoughts. Cassie's gaze was focused somewhere off into the trees. "Don't," she said softly.

Hm?                                                                                                               

Her fingers curled around the tip of my wing gently. "I don't want you to morph into him tonight. He has no place in this."

Puzzled, I slowly shed the bit of form I'd gainedI guess I'm just not… I thought you liked me becoming Jake.

She smiled then, and for the millionth time I was struck by the beauty of it; not the way it looked, which was fine, but the beauty of what was _behind _it, like she knew something it would take me a million years to figure out. "I want you to be yourself, Tobias. Jake's not the one I'm here with tonight, is he?"

_Do you really think you know who I am? _Guess not. I hesitated. I'll still be pretty young…

"I want to see _you," she said stubbornly. "And just for tonight I want to be… I want to be _me_. Okay?" _

She finally turned her head. For a second I saw that sweet girl in overalls some fifteen years back, more concerned about binding the leg of some deer than winning the upcoming battles; whose main concern had been doing the right thing and keeping the soul alive, rather than the body. Then the look was gone, replaced by a sad kind of wisdom –the kind people get when they figure out that loss doesn't always end with restitution. 

_Just for tonight. _

Okay, I murmured

Experience is weighty, somebody once said. Once you lose the naiveté you figure you're in the clear, but then something comes along and slams that load down on your shoulders, reminding you what a bitch life can be. I'm not claiming that I'm any kind of master on the subject, but, Jesus, I had to learn how to face things, you know? My fears, my past, my future –all of that. But it's funny: with all the preparation you try to do, there are some things you just have to take as they come.  And, though it hurts, you learn to look _back_, both at the good and the bad, and _remember_, even though you want to forget.

But that night, pitch sweet on our skin and leaves tangled in our hair, flush in rhythm… we did forget.

I guess that's okay, too. 


End file.
